The barest hint of a smug smile curves on Phaestion’s otherwise impassive face. Yet he bows his head with deference and lifts my bags to his shoulder. “It is my honor.”
My mother’s dark eyes drift to Alberich and become steel. “Tell Lord Leontes he’ll regret this coercion.”
Pity flashes in the seneschal’s eyes, but we walk through the door. We’re met by a cadre of black-clad guards from House Julii outside. They salute Phaestion. It all feels so formal. I’m entering a world of pomp and circumstance I’ve only glimpsed. Phaestion leads the procession down the narrow winding road of the town.
The cadre my mother gathered at the mansion follows. They line the streets and watch in silence. For a moment, I think I see Nadia’s face flit through the gathered faces. We haven’t said goodbye. I lose sight of her as we reach the sleek black sondi waiting for us at the docks.
I step onto the ramp, but a tug in my stomach pulls me back, and I turn. The faces of all the Daysiders of Bone look at me. I raise my hand to them. They raise theirs. For the first time, I sense that these are my people and I am theirs.
A hand falls on my shoulder. The angular, refined features of Phaestion Julii break into a smile.
“Come on.” He laughs. “The capital awaits.”
He turns, his cape swirling behind him. I follow.
“Alberich,” I say as I strap into my seat. I muster a commanding tone, as if I’m my father giving him an order. “No matter how angry she makes Edric, please see to it my mother is not harmed.”
The big man grimaces. “I’ll do my best, young lord.”
The engines whine. The balloon lifts into the sky. I glance out the window at the whiteness of the stone, the high cliffs, and the green-blue sea. I’ve said goodbye before, but only for a day, years ago. Not like this. The vista moves past the viewport.
Everything is changing.
The island recedes. I spy through the porthole a tiny ledge jutting out from the cliffside. The spot where I first met Nadia. A young girl stands there, her hair blowing in the wind. She raises an arm. I put my hand against the glass to return the farewell, but I don’t think she can see.
The sky turns the color of a bruise. The star of Tao dips on the horizon. It hangs like a lidless red eye. We reach Meridian, the capital. The sondi roars through the narrow avenues of glass scrapers in the southern districts where House Julii makes its home. It approaches a tower with the crest of a massive orca emblazoned on its surface.
“Welcome to your new home,” Phaestion says.
“It’s gigantic,” I whisper.
“Dwarfs even the palace of Old Wusong.” He smiles. “The Julii were the first leaders of the High Synod after Empress Boudika was forced to abdicate. Our position allowed us to corner the market on interstellar trade, limited though it was, when the Fracture Point was much farther away. Tao survived because of House Julii, and someday, I’ll be Patriarch and inherit the seat on the Synod.”
“Provided you win the Combat,” I say bitingly.
Phaestion winks. For him, the outcome isn’t in doubt.
One of the giant glass panels of the scraper opens to reveal a hangar. Our sondi glides through the port.
“How would Tao not have survived without House Julii?” I ask.
Phaestion gives me a look like I should know this basic history. “I forget, on the island you have no formal schooling. You saw the kelp and algae fields of the Southern Sea upon our approach?”
I nod.
“Those fields and our hydroponics buildings are the source of oxygenation for our atmosphere and oceans. Forests of the Twilight Band were all clear-cut, and minerals within half-lighted zones were mined long ago. Tao needed imports. House Julii was the first to build ships that could ferry to and from the distant Fracture Point. When the High Synod formed, the Julii fleet became the national fleet. Old Wusong may hold the imperial name, but Julii is the name that keeps this place alive.”
I think of the Fracture Point changing the day of my birth and the visitors from off-world I saw at Edgaard’s coronation years ago.
“With the repositioning of the Fracture Point,” I think out loud, “your giant freighters for long voyages are obsolete. Other houses should have been able to build ships much more cheaply and end Julii dominance by now.”
Phaestion’s eyes go hard.
I’ve said something wrong? No, I’ve said something revealing . . .
Then the tension is gone as if it had never been there.
“Competition’s good. It makes us stronger.”
He’s right, but something also tells me that Phaestion and House Julii will do anything to win, even if that means crushing rivals before things get competitive. I wonder if this is why other houses haven’t challenged their fleet yet.
Giant tapestries of deep purple line the walls of the hangar, blending ancient heraldry with modern tech. The sondi ramp lowers, and Phaestion leads us down. An ancient man with snow-white hair and a beard waits surrounded by guards adorned in black and purple.
“I’ve returned, Father.” Phaestion bows.
“My son,” the old man says kindly. “Was your trip successful?”
Phaestion gestures to me. “May I present Edmon of House Leontes. Eldest born of Combat champion Edric Leontes.”
I bristle. Edric’s eldest born. That’s all I am to anyone here. I suppose I need to learn to accept it. I bow. It’s hard to believe that this hunched old man, nearly thrice the age of my father, is Phaestion’s sire. Even harder to fathom that one day his son will willingly kill him to take his place.
“Leontes’s boy.” He grimaces. “Your hair is so dark? I thought you were blond.”
Phaestion smiles. “You’re thinking of his younger brother, Edgaard, Father. This is Edmon.”
“Of course,” the old man says indifferently.
I chew the inside of my cheek at the mention of the brother who has usurped me. Meanwhile, I can’t keep my eyes off the diminutive figure standing next to the old man. He has extremely large eyes of an unnatural shade of blue that peer out from the shadows of his hooded robe. The black pupils narrow like a cat’s as he catches me staring.
“Are you a spypsy?” I blurt out. “I’ve read about space gypsies in my books.”
Alberich shifts uncomfortably behind me. Everyone averts their gazes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to recover from the outburst. “I’ve just read a lot about the six clans of spypsies that wander the Fracture, survivors of the great Miralian Empire.”
“You seem to know more of such subjects than most on Tao.” The man brushes back his hood to reveal a smooth skull. In fact, he’s completely hairless—no eyebrows, no eyelashes. It’s disconcerting. “I am Talousla Karr. I am a space gypsy, but I am not of the clans.”
“Oh” is all I can say.
“Edmon’s mother is a Daysider, your grace,” Phaestion says, cutting in. “That’s why his hair is so dark.”
Lord Julii furrows his brow as if searching the back of his memory. “Yes, of course.” He smiles at me. “You should be happy here with us, young Leontes. You will be a fine cadet in the academy, in spite of your disadvantage.”
Disadvantage? My eyes narrow.